


Human Resources

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Office, Car Sex, First Time, Humor, LAMILL, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:40:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, it's an office AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Human Resources

_**Human Resources**_  
 **Title:** Human Resources  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** R  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** Yeah, it's an office AU.

"Good morning, this is Chris calling from Information Confirmation. Would you be able to transfer me to Human Resources or any equivalent department at this time?"

"Well that was certainly a mouthful," the guy answers.

That's what she said, but not what Chris is about to get fired over. "I'm sorry, I didn't get your name?"

"Wait, I thought you wanted HR, what do you need my name for?"

Chris grits his teeth. "If you're authorized to confirm employment information with, uh—" He glances at the screen. "Noah, Harold, and Associates? Then yes, I would need your name and title."

"Have you ever thought of shortening your little script or whatever? Cause I think you should know it's kind of pretentiously wordy as of right now . . ."

"Okay, this _is_ Noah, Harold, and Associates, correct, sir?"

"Yeah, why?"

Chris taps his foot with a little extra force, reverts to his singsong opener: "This is Chris calling from Information Confirmation seeking confirmation of employment for Gabriel Grey. Would you be able to transfer me to Human Resources or any equivalent department at this time?"

" _Ohhhh_ , Gabriel Grey? Okay, okay."

"Wonderful," Chris purrs, "and are you authorized to confirm em—"

"Yeah, IDK never heard of him. Sorry, bro."

"I. D. K.?"

"Oh don't tell me you're some old fart stuck and an office job at Figuring Stuff Out Incorporated."

"Information Confirmation."

"That's what I said."

At this point Chris is surfing the web for a different number to call, when—

"So, what, you need to know if they are who they say they are?"

"That's correct, sir, so if you can—"

"Confirm the information, as it were?"

Chris is smiling crazily at his computer screen. "Mm _hmm_."

"Well _anyway_ , nobody's around that can answer your questions or whatever, so—"

Chris has just about reached his breaking point, says all at once, "Mmhmm okay wonderful and I'll just try back again tomorrow mhmm okay? Mm bye." He slams the shitty phone down with considerable force. Feels pretty good. Indulges in an almighty sigh.

John swivels on over. "Dude, what the he—heroine was that?"

"Heroin?"

"Oh no, it's cool I said it with an E on the end so it's not like drug trafficking in the workplace or anything."

". . . You've never even _seen_ Police Women of Broward County, have you?"

John raises his eyebrows.

" _Anyway_ we were talking about how I was just on the phone with someone weirder than I actually am."

John fiddles with his douchily bright pink tie. "Dude, that's the Noah, Harold, and Associates order, right? That's like, what, almost twenty-four hours, now? You'd better get a move on, man. Hey, I can try for you after I finish up my last couple pendings."

Chris shakes his head. "Nah. It's a vengeance thing, now," he says, typing furious notes about the order and wording it has bitchily as possible.

John laughs. "Yeah I get it. Good luck, man." And with that he swivels back out of sight.

A message pops up on Chris's computer screen:

> \--:zsaldana  
>  **yo keep your feet safely within your cubicle at all times or at least stop trying to blow my humble house down over here with your foot tapping frustrations**
> 
> \--:cpine  
>  You know, it's funny, this asshole receptionist guy seemed to think *I* was long-winded
> 
> \--:zsaldana  
>  **i'm just trying to look out for ya, hon. we don't want jj to come over here and poorly chastise you and make us all has to stifle laughter until he retreats into the bowels of his office**
> 
> \--:cpine  
>  So what do you just chill out on Thesaurus.com while you're on hold all day or what
> 
> \--:zsaldana  
>  **gtg**  
> 

Chris saves the various documents he has open, is about to dive into another order when the damn temp taps him on the shoulder and he jumps about ten feet in the air, much to John's snickering delight.

"Hey, man, sorry to bother you again, but which form do I fax over for COE if it's not an electronic order already?"

"I love you Anton, I really do, but you've got to make a little cheat sheet for yourself or something 'cause I'm seriously swamped today."

John's beady little eyes peer over the divider at them, like he's such a bigshot for being caught up and not encountering ridiculously unprofessional assholes all fucking day.

"Or on second thought, why don't you just go pester the sensei over here."

John points an accusing finger at Chris. "Discrimination in the workplace! Culturally confused discrimination in the workplace."

Zoe pops up across the office, phone to her ear. "I'll see your race card and raise you another."

"Oh yeah?" John says. "Let's see your hand, woman!"

"Jokes on you, Cho, I've got a sexual harassment lawsuit up my sleeve."

"Oh come on man, who actually pulls the sex card?"

"Um, do you wanna rephrase that?"

Karl peers out of his cubicle farther down the row. "Hey, we're still on for poker night Friday, right?"

John turns around to him. "Fu—fajitas yeah! Oh man I am hungry . . ."

Chris sighs.

Anton taps his shoulder again. "Sooo, do I just . . . ?"

"Yeah yeah, hold on I'm coming."

Anton beams. "That's what she said."

John holds up his hand for a high five. "Yeah you're catching on, man. Up top!"

Chris drags Anton to safety.

*

Chris tries the offending number again after a couple of nice calming hours have passed, only to get the same asshole he talked with before and promptly hang up like a squeamish prank caller. He doesn't even take note of it because there's no way he's gonna forget about this order.

A couple of hours later he answers the phone, half asleep from the monotony of it all so he gasps audibly when he recognizes the voice.

"Hey Chris it's Zach. Saw you called. What's up?"

And now he has a name—muahaha! "Yes, good afternoon _Zach_ , I wanted to ask if you would be able to put me in touch with Human Resources or any equivalent department . . . again?"

"Eh. Oh, hey, can I call you back?"

"I'm sor—?" CLICK. "Bastard!" Chris glares at the phone.

"Language, Christopher!" John calls.

"Not according to the FCC, good sir! Anyway the figurative sense of the word was—"

"Yeah, no one cares that you have an English degree, Chris."

". . . You have an English degree. The same one."

"Yeah I know, and they sure did a good job of training us for our careers of phone call pleasantries, huh?"

Chris's phone's ringing. "Hold that dismal thought."

"Oh come on—bro's before ho's, Chris. Seriously."

"Thanks for calling Information Confirmation, this is Chris. How may I assist you today?"

"So Chris, how long do we have to dance around it before you just give in and give me your number?"

Chris sighs. "You already have the company number, Zach, and as I'm sure you know my extension is—"

"050510. I mean, what is that some significant date in your life or something? Is that when you lost your virginity, Chris?"

"No. Just, no."

"I must say you've got a pretty fantastically sexy voice, Chris. I can't imagine that you're still a virgin . . ."

Chris blushes, turns away from the rest of the office as much as possible. "I'm sorry, Zach, am I correct in assuming you are in a place of work with, you know, your coworkers all in attendance?"

"Yeah sort of. I mean, you know, whatever."

"Mmhmm wonderful and could I have your full name, please?"

"Oh you'd like that wouldn't you?"

"It is our company policy to—"

"Yeah yeah yeah, Zachary Quinto Q. U. I. N. T. as in teleport O."

"Teleport?"

"I'm one of five million Trekkie Americans living with Star Trek: Enterprise."

"I thought the correct terminology was 'Trekker'."

"Aha! So you _are_ a huge fucking dork."

Chris heaves a sigh. "I don't suppose asking you to give me the goshdarn HR number again is going to get me anywhere?"

"Hold on, did you just actually speak the words 'gosh' and 'darn'?"

"Strict no swearing policy."

"Oh hey, I gotta go. Talk to you later, sexy." CLICK.

"Hey—! What a di—ck Cheney," he mutters.

John swivels on up. "Hey hey hey, that was you-know-who, wasn't it? Hey how the flip on how did you get on Facebo—mmf!"

Chris removes his hand. "Flipping be quiet."

John leans in, lowers his voice while Chris navigates the site sneakily. "No, seriously, how did you get around the firewall? They swear I've tried everything, and—is _that_ him?"

"Yes, John; you've found me out. I've been playing phone tag with someone's dog's Facebook page."

John rolls his eyes. "Who are these people that gives their pets human names?"

"Oh I'm sure they're uber-hipsters who just do it ironically . . . Oh, hey, I think this is him."

"Oh."

"Oh, um. Hm."

John leans way over Chris's desk to signal Zoe. "I think we need a second hetero opinion over here."

Chris sighs. "I'm bi, you ass."

Zoe holds up her hands in shock and she rounds the corner. "Woah, Chris, I think it's a bit inappropriate to be swearing up a storm on the job like this."

"Fuck off, Zoe, 'ass' is in the Bible. Oh shit. Oh. Urmghf."

John laughs while Zoe peers at Chris's computer screen. Her eyes widen. "He's fucking hot!"

And of course Anton's in the process of meandering on by. "Wait, is it cool to swear now? Hey, who's that?"

"Fuck off," the three of them chorus.

Chris hates himself for it, but there's no denying that Zach's Facebook resume is most impressive: no douchey relationship status or drunk pics, an impressive list of favorite books, only a few clever little interests including 'philosophy', 'vocabulary', and 'terrible hats'. And his status is totally a Shakespeare reference.

He thinks about it for way too long on the tedious commute at the end of the day. Stupid little things like discussing Emerson and mentally compiling an arsenal of ten dollar words for their next fruitless conversation.

*

Chris chugs the last lukewarm drops of his coffee, throws the cup away in his tiny-ass garbage can already overflowing coffee cups corpses three days into the work week. Grabs his phone to check his voicemail.

MESSAGE 1:

" _Hey, Chris from Information Confirmation,_ " says a sultry Zach voice, " _it's me. Tag, you're it._ "

END OF MESSAGE 1. MESSAGE 2:

" _Okay I'll admit that was a bit serial killer of me, but I'm not sure what you're into so I figure I better cover all my bases. So, ohmigod call me back, I think you're cute!_ "

END OF MESSAGE 2. MESSAGE 3:

" _Hi Christopher, I'm Nero with Romulus Independent Contractors returning your call, I got your fax and—_ "

Chris hangs up. It can totally wait. Because the Noah, Harold, and Associates order is way overdue. Obviously.

He only knows the number because he's just a number-memorizing ninja like that.

"'Sup, boo."

"So do you just recognize the number or is this how you greet everybody?"

Zach's voice goes velvety. "You're the only one, Chris."

Chris laughs, and it must have come out relatively giggly because he can hear John attempting to sneak over on his loud as fuck rolly chair.

"So, Chris. What are you wearing?"

"Business casual."

"That's hot. Boxers or briefs?"

"I'll leave that to the imagination."

"Ooh, me likey. But no, seriously, just the sound of your voice turns me on."

"What, do you want me to leave you a message or something?"

"Only if you call me baby cakes."

"No thanks."

"What, you don't dig the vaguely pedophilic overtones there?"

". . ."

"No, yeah, you're right. So, Chris, whatcha got planned tonight?"

Chris clears his throat, is not hot in the face. "Oh you know, just a wild night of Kashi frozen dinner and sleeping."

"Alone?"

"I—" And Chris's sense gives way to impulse. "Why, what are you up to?"

"Uh, it's Tuesday night, hello. Glee season finale?"

"Gay."

"Why yes I am. And I'm also in charge of HR, Chris from Information Confirmation, in case you were forgetting."

"Wait wait wait so you _are_ the HR person? Are you fuc—falafel kidding me?"

"Uh, nope. That would be a no. But yeah no for real I am the HR guy. But you've gotta admit this has been a beacon of entertainment in your dead-end job."

"I'm so flattered I don't even know where to begin . . ." Chris snaps out of it. "No, wait, just— _you see here_ , Zach with HR, I have deadlines to meet and if this goes on for much longer I could get written up or—"

"Oh shit, gotta go, baby cakes. TTYL!"

"Nobody actually _says_ —Zach? _Zach_?"

John is practically leaning over his shoulder now. "Oooh, burn!"

Chris turns on him. "Oh my God don't _you_ have any work to do _ever_?"

John just laughs and retreats.

*

Chris calls back after lunch.

"I'm sorry," Zach says after an unusual number of rings. "I can't hear you. I'm kinda busy."

"K-kinda busy?"

"K-kinda busy," Zach says seriously. "So I'm going to transfer you to Leonard and you can meet your deadline, but Chris, baby, you have my number. Don't be a stranger."

"There's someone else, isn't there."

Zach laughs and Chris doesn't even have time to react before he's transferred to Leonard and the order is over with. He half expects to be transferred back to Zach, but of course he isn't, and instead is left staring at his computer screen with no flirting whatsoever over the phone on his shoulder.

Noah, Harold, and Associates had been so time-consuming that it only makes sense to make a little post-it note with the number and plaster it up on his desk. You know, for future use.

Later that day Karl visits on his way to the fax machine. "Hey, mate, saw you completed the Noah, Harold, and Associates order. Finally," he laughs. God is he ever jolly. Probably a side effect of the glorious non-interaction with clients that comes with accounting.

"Yeah." Chris shifts a little in his chair to block the incriminating neon post-it on his desk.

But Karl is as wise as he is easygoing, the fucker. "So why don't you just call him?"

Chris sputters.

"It's an LA area code, right? I mean, why not? It's unlikely he's an unusually physically appealing sexual predator who's holding down a shitty desk job. And anyway I'm sure you could take him."

Zoe calls: "No he couldn't!" right when John chimes in with a cheerful "That's what she said!"

Karl waves them off, and Chris does take some small comfort in his calm grown-up-ness. "I say go for it."

Chris smiles a little. "So I've always wondered about this, Karl: what the Hello Kitty made you haul your ass across the damn Pacific for this totally sweet office job?"

Karl shrugs. "Oh, you know." And somehow he modulates into song: "That screwy ballyhooey Hollywood, where any office boy or young mechanic can be a panic with just a good looking pan . . ."

Chris nods encouragingly. "Okay, yeah, never do that again, dude."

*

Zoe walks in wearing a skirt, and the world ends.

"Oo _oo_ ooh, is this all for me, beautiful?"

Zoe smiles at John, smiles, "Harassment."

"Oh, please, you feed off of it."

Zoe shrugs.

"So what's the occasion, Zo," Chris asks, "hot date later?"

She just keeps smiling and turns to haplessly hovering Anton. "Anton, honey. You wanna come out to the bar with me and Karl and a couple of people?"

"Oh," Anton says, has trouble not inspecting every aspect of her outfit, such as where it isn't covering anything. "I, uh. I'm not twenty-one. But I'm eighteen, so, I dunno . . ."

"Ah," Zoe says, pats his cheek maternally. "Raincheck, then." And walks away.

Anton sputters to himself for a minute before calling after her: "I mean, I can have _sex_ , I just—"

Even Simon in accounting way down the row bursts into laughter at that. Zoe's heels click all the faster in retreat.

John beckons Anton over. "You know, I thought you were gonna say something like 'I can vote!' or like 'I can serve in the military, bitch!', but instead you come up with _that_ , and really I don't know why I'm surprised, Anton, but then again Zoe is undeniably delicious."

Chris is just blinking at the office at large. ". . . You guys know she has a boyfriend, right?"

John waves it off.

They get to work. Chris's phone rings while he's on a call and he recognizes the number with a dumb little thrill, tries to finish his order as quickly as possible so he can listen to the message.

MESSAGE 1:

" _Tag!_ "

END OF MESSAGES.

Chris re-dials, and it doesn't even ring before going to voicemail:

" _Hi, you've reached Zach with Noah, Harold, and Associates. It's not that I don't like you—I'm just at a party and I'm sick and tired  of my phone r-ringing.  But if you're as dedicated of a stalker as I hope you are, Chris, you'll poke me on Facebook like a gentleman. Or not like a gentleman—I'm down with that. Kay!_ "

Chris isn't sure quite how it happens, but two days and three cautious voicemails later they've got a date for Friday night. Karl and Simon make fun of him for the rest of the day while Zoe gives him her pepper spray and John slips him a Magnum condom.

*

LAMILL was an odd choice if only because it was in Chris's neighborhood. It takes him a minute to find Zach because he's done an excellent job camouflaging himself as a vaguely douchey, screamingly homosexual hipster. Which is fine with Chris, really.

"Zach."

"I. Chris?"

"Uh, yeah. Hi." Chris sits down across from him and his coffee.

Zach's ten times hotter in person, plus he smells amazing and has the sweetest smile and tight accentuating jeans and perfect scruff and expressive eyes that make Chris's heart stutter to a halt. He's gotta be a fucking incubus or something, because this is just way too much.

Zach nods for a long time before actually speaking: "Yeah. Uh. Huh." Laughs and regroups. "See, I knew you'd stalk me on Facebook. Um. _Yeah_." He's just staring at Chris now. "I gotta be honest, I was completely at peace with possibly dating some nice but mediocre looking guy, but from the looks of things I must have been a fucking saint in a past life because you are kind of obscenely pleasing to behold."

And when does anybody ever say that in real life? So Chris bushes like crazy.

"And fucking adorable when you blush, to boot."

Chris can't quite meet Zach's eye. "And now I'm convinced you really are a smooth talking serial killer. All I ask is that you get Brad Pitt to play me in the Lifetime movie, assuming you have any say in the casting from death row, I mean."

"You are—okay, I've really gotta shut up now because I'm about to put my foot in my mouth again." He adjusts his glasses and stares at the table between them.

Chris clears his throat because he's nervous-excited, and a little turned on like in the tips of his fingers and the nape of his neck. How the hell did the ball get over in his court? "So, where'd you get your glasses? I need new ones pretty bad, specially with allergy season fucking up my contacts."

Zach looks up, bold pretty eyelashes, and laughs. "I don't think I've ever actually heard you swear."

"Eheh," Chris tries to laugh.

"But yeah these are pretty new, actually," Zach says, tapping the stylized frames. "Going retro or whatever. Not sure how I feel about them yet, but I can definitely see a lot better. My other ones are the big boxy black kind, which are cool, but I don't think I realized how much the frames were actually limiting my vision."

"Well, I like your new ones, for what it's worth."

And they just sort of stared at each other.

" _Yeah_ . . ."

Zach laughs. "So! This is awkward."

"Yep."

"Want me to ask you textbook first date questions to fill the silence?"

"Not really."

"Well too fucking bad." Zach knocks back some coffee for caffeinated courage, rests his face in his hands like a preteen with Bieber fever. "What made you decide to get into shitty office work?"

"Ah, I know this one," Chris says. "What is: the desire to pay my rent?"

"Okay, but what do you wanna be?"

Chris frowns. "Eh?"

"What do you wanna be when you grow up?"

"Uh. I dunno. I writer, I guess. You?"

"Just another idiot who came out here to pursue my 'acting career'."

"Mm. Well I guess we both kind of got what we wanted, and a way. I 'write' shit all day and you put on crazy personas over the phone."

"I gotta say, your unfailing optimism is kind of a turnoff, Chris."

"Mm." Chris knows he is but a weak mortal man, but holy shit if he isn't just instinctually, utterly attracted to this guy. It must have something to do with the craziness of it all, with seeing him in the flesh after so many fun but not quite real conversations. "So. I." Goddammit, he'd totally had something sensible to say there, but that it had been before Zach ran a hand through his luxurious hair so luxuriously.

Zach locks onto his eyes, steals Chris's breath. "Yeah, this isn't working. Do you just wanna go somewhere and make out, 'cause I don't think I can concentrate on being charming until I know what that gorgeous mouth tastes like."

"Yeahokay," Chris says tightly while his pulse pounds. This is crazy.

*

"This is crazy," Chris says aloud when they reach his car, and Zach's got his hand at the small of his back warmly and he's got Chris against the car and his mouth on his without further ado. Chris crushes his keys in his fist and tries to fight the thrilling surge of arousal that takes him over.

"I know," Zach growls. "I don't care."

"Yeah." Chris kisses back for a while before tearing himself away enough to open the door and drag Zach into the backseat.

Zach's on him instantly, kicking a tissue box onto the floor and seizing Chris's face and kissing him hard, to which Chris can only moan and feel up his mouthwateringly toned arms, down over coarse shirt and soft/hard skin to relocate Zach's hands to Chris's body in general. Zach takes that as a cue to yank Chris's shirt off roughly and commence sucking on his neck.

"Oh, HR rep Zach . . ."

Zach laughs, then growls in the back of his throat, kisses Chris's jaw and bites at the juncture of neck and shoulder, trails his mouth tantalizingly down to lick at a nipple. Chris gasps and arcs his hips despite himself, fucking horny, heart pounding with the sudden taboo glory of it all.

And Zach is hard too, pressing hot and large into Chris's thigh while he drives Chris slowly insane with the way his tongue's dancing over Chris's nipple. Chris pushes his hand into Zach's hair, soft and sculpted and cool between his fingers, yanks him up for a deepening kiss.

Zach makes a lovely masculine sound around Chris's mouth and Chris takes the opportunity to push him upright, just enough to unbalance him and kiss him into the headrest and straddle him. Zach's tongue licks easily into his mouth and Chris shivers at Zach's hands fitting firmly at his hips, laughs and moans and works his hand between them to squeeze Zach through his jeans.

Zach's eyes start to roll a little, then close on a laugh. "This is happening. Fuck . . ."

"Yeah," Chris says, feels Zach's wet bottom lip and finds his forefinger swallowed up by Zach's wicked tongue. " _Shit_."

"Mm."

Zach forces a hand down to join Chris's, flicking open buttons and flies along the way and guiding Chris's hand over his cock for a minute before concentrating on touching Chris in turn.

This isn't going to last long, which is a shame because the energy here's enough to power a nation, and Chris feels faint with pleasure pretty quick, gets disoriented and imagines his hand is on his own cock because Zach's matched his rhythm so perfectly. Zach nuzzles against Chris's face sweetly for a kiss that starts out full of tongue before graduating to the desperate press of mouths and ending with only their damp accelerating breath connecting their lips as orgasms approach.

Zach comes first, without a word, and Chris doesn't notice until he feels the liquid heat of it spilling over through Zach's fingers on him and lubing everything beautifully. Zach jerks Chris faster and faster, squeezing his balls just enough but not enough and sucking on his neck and moaning  
something dirty and it's amazingly good—

Chris comes with a gasp, legs about ready to give out so he collapses away onto the backseat with a gust of cool air and exhaustion.

"Holy shit," Chris pants.

"Yeah," Zach says vaguely, loopy smile plastered on his face.

"So." Chris takes a minute to catch his breath. "So. What is this, exactly?"

"This?" Zach gestures between them. "This is just you and me."

"You don't think I'm a slut?"

"Hell yeah I do. So am I." He kisses him.

"Mm." Chris loves Zach's face so close.

"Although," Zach says. "I do wanna sit down and have actual dinner at some point. Maybe speak to you before jamming my tongue down your throat, that sort of thing. Just, you know, if you're into kinky stuff like that . . ."

Chris laughs, doesn't have the energy to forage around for something witty to say. "Samesies."

*

There's a welcoming committee gathered around Chris's cubicle.

"Um," Chris says.

"How was it?"  
"Get it in, yeah!"  
"So that wasn't you they found in the river on the eleven o'clock news?"  
"Hey you guys! What's going on?"

Zoe pulls Anton aside. "This is a grown-up discussion, sweetie. Why don't you go and make us some coffee, okay?"

Chris doesn't succeed in masking his smile before he makes it to his chair. "Frog off, guys, I'm already ten minutes late."

The crowd disperses except for John, who lowers his voice and says, "Oh my God you totally got some, didn't you? _So_ not fair!"

"Okay I'm making a call now, so if you wanna go back to your own desk or anything . . ."

"Oh, bah humbug," John says, goes.

Someone picks up on the second ring. "Thanks for calling Noah, Harold, and Associates, nobody can come to the phone right now, so if you leave your name—"

"Zach, it's me."

"Oh! Well why didn't you say so, man? Do you know how many people try to call this place during business hours? It's _appalling_."

Chris laughs. "How have you not been fired. Seriously."

"So . . . last night was hot."

"Yep."

"So when's our next moonlit tryst? You free tonight?"

"That's awfully forward of you. Aren't you afraid you're coming off as desperate?"

"I certainly hope so, 'cause I am desperate. You're sexy, and you know big words, and you get all flustered and cute. What's there to think about, here?"

"Eight o'clock."

"Same bat-time, same bat-channel?"

"You're a dork," Chris says. "See you there."

*


End file.
